Times and seasons

The past few weeks I have been busy doing cheerful things - hosting visitors from London, buying Christmas foods, ordering Christmas gifts for people online, tidying the house in preparation for Christmas visitors, and even some travelling in and around Sichuan.

Despite keeping a diary, it's not possible to remember all the moments, cheerful or otherwise, and the task becomes harder still during a busy period. Meanwhile, time continues its merry dance of the hours. Christmas comes and goes.

And yet, even if it is a hopeless task, I still want to remember, record and pass on. And not just at Christmas or because it is Christmas - although the urge to communicate with others is doubtless stronger at this time of year - but because it matters to me. So, the following are a few snapshots of the past few weeks.

Leshan
We spent the best part of a Saturday in Leshan, which is only about 2 hours south from Chengdu by bus. The principal attraction is the Big Buddha (大佛), which is the world's tallest sitting Buddha. Despite its vastness, the Buddha remained elusive. We could see its head, close-up, from the top of the mountain, and we saw the entire statue, hazily from one of the muddy, finger-like islands that sticks into the river. Viewed from here, it blended mysteriously into the landscape, only its head truly visible.

But we never got a good look at the whole thing: the angles were all wrong somehow. The Buddha capriciously faced slightly away from the city. A few people grumbled, complaining they had been denied the "money shot"; as a group we fell to speculating on better angles - surely if we were on one of the boats that passed directly beneath the Buddha on the river, we would finally have the perfect view? That must be the best spot, no? After all, that's how the sailors on the river would have seen the Buddha hundreds of years ago, and it was intended for their eyes, wasn't it? Eventually our speculations petered out.

And yet, the impossibility of seeing the whole thing fitted. That day the weather in Leshan was misty and atmospheric - everything was smudged like a Chinese watercolour landscape. Across the face of the waters, the Buddha timelessly gazed, invited, perhaps even reassured, but he did not reveal.

Shimian County
In mid-December, we did a site visit to a county about 4 hours west of Chengdu, in the foothills of the Tibetan plateau. I had visited this landscape before, in 2005, but I had forgotten how it looked, or rather, it was only when I returned there that the memory of its beauty fully revived. Being there was thus a double joy - the immediate appreciation of the landscape overlaid with earlier memories. I remembered all my earlier wonder - it's not like other parts of China that I have seen - the scale is more magnificent, the colours deeper. In places, the violence of the broad, gushing, green waters and sheer cliffs gives way to placid lakes that made me think of Swiss postcards.

Chongqing
Chongqing is evocative, because it was briefly the capital of China during the Second World War, when the whole of eastern China was captured by the Japanese, and it looked for a moment like China itself might cease to exist. The nationalist (Kuomintang or KMT) government chose Chongqing because it was relatively far inland and because its mountainous terrain (it is nicknamed "Mountain City" or 山城), surrounded on three sides by water, offered excellent natural defences. Notwithstanding these advantages, Chongqing suffered a great deal during the War - from heavy aerial bombardment from the Japanese, from floods of refugees arriving from other parts of China, and from espionage and counter-espionage between the KMT and the Communists, who were both struggling for supremacy. These events have left their mark on the city, although it is better known these days as the political base of Bo Xilai, the disgraced "princeling", whose wife was convicted for killing a British businessman several years ago.

I went there last weekend (26-27 December) with a friend, who had family there, and was very lucky to be taken in and shown around by her family. To me, the geography of the city - mountains and water - give it a character that is unusual among major Chinese cities. The closest analogy my friend and I could think of was with Hong Kong (another major city of mountains and water), but really its character is all its own, just as the bluntness that we observed (certainly from my friend's aunt, but also more generally, or so it seemed to us) is probably unrepeatable elsewhere.

And finally, a panda

Because this is what I went to see with my friend on Christmas Day.

Recent fragments of conversation

Fragment#1

Setting: an office in Sichuan University, Huaxi campus

Chinese colleague (in English): Excuse me, David?

David (looking up): Yes…?

Chinese colleague: I wanted to ask you a favour…it's about my son

David: Is he OK? His cough…is it better?

Chinese colleague: Yes, yes…his cough is much better now, thank you. Ummm…you see…my son, he is 8 years old...

David: ???

Chinese colleague: And he has just started learning English at school….

David: ???

Chinese colleague: And the thing is…well…he really wants to practise. And so I was just wondering if maybe…

David: ???

Chinese colleague: Maybe you could come to our house one time, and talk to him in English. Just to give him some practice. What about Christmas time? Do you have plans for Christmas? Perhaps you could come then...and talk to him? He is very curious about Christmas.


Fragment #2

Setting: "Wechat" (a kind of messaging app) conversation with a Chinese person met at a Chinese language discussion event at "The Bookworm" in Chengdu

[Following several days of chat in Chinese and English, during which we talked about our respective jobs, life in Chengdu, foreign languages etc.]

Liu (in English): You free tonite?

David: Unfortunately not, will be working

Liu: My friend's sponsoring an English salon which opens tonite, thought could invite you over

David: Sorry, I am busy tonight

[Pause of several minutes, while David weighs up the pros and cons of expressing his feelings more clearly]

David: Also, if I am honest, I try to avoid English salons and events like this. To help out a friend I might go to one, but it's not how I like to spend my free time.

Liu: Of course, it was only an ask.

[Pause of several minutes, while David struggles with his awkward sense of being labelled as a foreigner, and wonders if he is being over-sensitive in reacting this way]

David (yielding to his frustration): I cannot speak on behalf of other foreigners, but for me at least, it depresses me a little that even after 8 years here, the most common request I get is to help other people with their English….[a long message ensues in which David tries to convey his frustration, but probably just sounds whiny, and in any case, as he later realises, he is addressing Chinese society at large, rather than any one individual]…I am telling you this, because I hope that you can try to understand. Like I said, I understand the demand for English language skills, really I do. But I am not sure other people understand what it feels like to be reduced to being a foreigner very frequently.

Liu: Oh my dear friend, you've misunderstood me much. I've never taken you as a foreigner and tried to take advantage. When I invited you, I only thought it as a good reason to hang out…if you don't feel like it, it's fine.

[Silence. End of conversation. David feels dissatisfied, both with himself and with Liu's answer, which bothers him on several levels. First, the unctuousness ("my dear friend", "I've never taken you as a foreigner"); second, the conflation of "taking advantage of someone" and "being reduced to being a foreigner" - David was only concerned with the latter, and the amalgamation makes him feel like his point was missed; third, the somehow patronising sign-off ("if you don't feel like it, it's fine"). David concedes that he IS extremely sensitive at the moment, but also resolves not to continue this conversation. No further conversation arises during the weeks that follow].

Fragment #3

Setting: Several hundred metres up Qingcheng Mountain, about 2 hours from Chengdu

Chinese walker, henceforth called "Miao" (calling out in Chinese): Hello, do you want to climb together?

David: Errr…ok

Miao: OK, well, we better get a move on. I promised my friend I would be back at the bottom within 3 hours. He's waiting for me there.

David (wearing too many clothes, unsuitable shoes, and carrying several bags): Ummm….

Miao (calling over his shoulder, as he strides ahead, taking steps two at a time): Come on…there's no time to lose. We still have a lot of climbing to do.

David: Ummmmm…..

Miao: Hurry up!

[David lumbers slowly up the hill as best he can, sometimes breaking into an uneven jog, meanwhile Miao appears to glide up the steps, and is always at least 50 metres in front. After a while, Miao waits for David to catch up]

David: What's your name anyway? Is it Sun Wukong? [The name of the Monkey King in a famous Chinese novel - he is proverbially quick and nimble]

Miao (somewhat puzzled): No…(still puzzled) that is not a person. That is a character in a novel.

David: I know. I was making a joke. You're very fast. What should I call you?

Miao: You can call me Miao. Or Big Brother Miao. What's your name?

David: David

Miao: Don't you have a Chinese name?

David: That is my Chinese name….what do you do, Big Brother Miao?

Miao: I used to be a Chinese doctor…but I got bored. So now I work for the government…in the legal system…doing…err...different things. (Starting off again) OK, enough break time. We need to hurry up.

David: OK, just give me a moment…

[Miao surges forward again, every so often he glances over his shoulder to see where David is, and to shout out 'Hurry up!', before recommencing his relentless assault on the mountain. David huffs and puffs his way up the hill, while wondering why exactly he is submitting to this, but enjoying it somehow nevertheless]

Miao: Let me take one of your bags. You will be faster.

David (secretly still a little anxious about handing over his personal possessions to this man): No, no, it's fine…I…err…like carrying them

Miao: Give them to me. You are out of breath. And you are covered in sweat.

David: No, no, it's fine…

Miao: You know…if you were a girl, you would be very pretty.

David: ????

Miao (zooming off ahead again, without a backward glance): OK, let's go. No time to lose. We are about halfway now.

[In the end, Miao recruited a third walker to this unusual group. Together they reached the top of the mountain in under an hour. The temple at the top had a tower with eight storeys. The entrance to the staircase was boarded up to prevent visitors from climbing. Miao ignored this, and scaling up the banister, he called on the others to do the same. This we did, and so the three of us had a private, illicit view from the very top of the tower].

Diplomacy

China-UK relations have been everywhere in the media this week. Whenever I went for lunch, the big TV screen in the university canteen seemed to show nothing but images of patriotic Chinese people waving flags in London, or magnificently attired guards on horses in the Mall, or Xi smiling enigmatically while meeting some politician. Meanwhile, local taxi drivers have commented ironically or patriotically, depending on their temperament, for example, last Friday one noted, "Just think, 100 years ago, it was the British who were building railways in China under the Qing dynasty, and now, 100 years on, we're the ones building railways in the UK."And an old colleague from Xinjiang even left this peculiar message on my answer phone: "David, the…the Chairman…the Chairman…the Chairman Xi Jinping of China will visit the UK in…recently. Maybe you had better notice this news."

No doubt about it, this visit has had tremendous political significance over here, and judging by the coverage in the UK media, it has not exactly slipped by unnoticed back home either.

Usually I don't comment on such affairs, but this time I want to, because the sumptuousness of the visit (the stay in Buckingham Palace! the address to MPs from the royal gallery! the banquet with the Lord Mayor of London! the visit to Chequers!) seems to signify a major shift in Britain's official attitude towards China. This impression is only confirmed by the details of the trade agreement that Britain has struck, which includes concessions in critical infrastructure such as nuclear power and railways. And then, lest we forget, there is the Chancellor, George Osborne's, own recent pledge to make Britain "China's best partner in the West". Taken as a whole, there is little doubt that big changes are afoot.

Why does this concern me? I suppose the simple answer is that I think any diplomacy with China needs to factor in our different political systems, and I feel that George Osborne, with his narrow focus on economic issues, has abjectly failed to do this. Indeed, the very language he has used - particularly his promise to "stick together" - , suggests a sort of diplomatic naiveté that casts doubt on his ability to exercise sound judgment. As one commentator shrewdly observed, "there are reasons why major shifts in foreign policy are not customarily expressed in the language of the kindergarten playground." (c.f. http://www.chinafile.com/conversation/britain-chinas-best-partner-west).

This same flagrant disregard for the difference in our political systems was on display when George Osborne went to China recently. Among the places he visited was Xinjiang, where I lived from 2004-2005. Xinjiang is ethnically diverse, and there are considerable tensions between the ethnic minorities and the Han people. This was true when I lived there; it was true in 2009 when ethnic riots broke out over several days in the provincial capital, killing several hundred people; and I imagine it is still true today.

Ethnic tensions go to the heart of the ongoing problems in the region - this is something that all the Chinese (Han) people that I know will admit to, even if they also maintain that Xinjiang is an irrevocable part of Chinese territory. In other words, even within China, there are large numbers of people who believe that Xinjiang's problems are not merely economic. And yet, what did George Osborne say in response to Western pressure to comment on the political situation there? As far as I am aware, he said nothing. Or rather, he said he had raised political/human rights issues in the context of "economic development, how we help kids from poor areas of China." Dear George, is this really the best you can do?

I am not trying to suggest, as some activists seem to do, that every British politician who ever works with China has to press it over its human rights record at every possible opportunity. To me, this is blinkered and arrogant. Blinkered, because it seems to ignore the fact that by lifting hundreds of millions of people out of poverty China has arguably done a lot more for human rights in the past 30 years than any other nation. Arrogant, because it assumes that in any conversation with China, the West should always get to set the terms of the debate, and because the West gets to choose the terms, it should always come out looking better.

But what I would hope for from our government is the clarity of vision to say that, yes, China has done remarkable things in economic development, in health, in education, in infrastructure, in any number of dimensions that you might care to mention, but that doesn't mean that it is beyond comment regarding the way it protects the rights of its social minorities, or controls information. Essentially, it would be nice to hear an enlightened government asking the question, "Hang on, what makes you so sure that economic development is incompatible with political development?"

Until fairly recently, this willingness to question was a characteristic of our diplomatic engagement with China. I believe it came from an awareness of our different political systems, as much as from any differences in our relative economic status. And, based on my experiences, such questions had a valid basis. For example, while working on HIV, I met someone who had been refused cancer surgery because he was HIV positive and the hospital didn't want to operate on him. This was plainly illegal under Chinese law, and yet the courts took steps to delay and eventually block the trial. Why? It is hard to know for certain, but a likely explanation is that the hospital connived with the courts to block the trial because the case was embarrassing to them. This is not an unusual anecdote, nor are such tales of abuse of power limited to HIV. Of course, abuse of power happens everywhere, and are by no means a uniquely Chinese problem. But China is interesting precisely because its political culture takes the submission of the individual to the collective as a fundamental principle. The philosophical and ethical merits of this outlook deserve serious consideration, but it is not hard to see that at its most unchecked, a system where individual rights are not guaranteed can easily lead to the intimidation of minorities by the majority, just as a system where individual rights always trump the larger collective interest can easily lead to social fragmentation.

It would be nice to see the UK government show a little of this questioning spirit still. Failing that, if asking questions is too much of a stretch for the Tories, at the very least, it would be nice to see them tacitly recognise the difference in our political systems and the values that underpin them. Yet the recent trip to Xinjiang, and the government's eager-to-please reception of Xi, suggest only too clearly that for this government, money always trumps values when choosing one's friends. 

One week in Chengdu

I have been in Chengdu for almost a week now. Two books in particular have kept me company: "Alone in Berlin" and "The Dragon's Backbone". On the surface, they do not have much in common. The first is a novel by a German author, who lived uneasily through the Third Reich, and wrote this book in a furious burst of creativity shortly after the War ended, as if trying to purge himself of the Nazis through this one act. It is based on the true story of a factory worker and his wife, who became disgusted with Hitler and began writing and distributing anti-Nazi postcards until they were eventually caught and executed by the Gestapo. The second book is a collection of pen-and-ink drawings with accompanying text depicting the various kinds of tradesmen that one could see in Chengdu in the 1920s and 1930s. It came about as a collaboration between a Quaker missionary, who lived in Chengdu (and taught at the university where I am based!) and his Chinese teacher - the Quaker supplied the words, and his Chinese teacher supplied the images. It's a beautiful testament both to their friendship and to a long-vanished world.

But the nice thing about books is that they inevitably riff on one another in one's own head. And it occurred to me in the past few days that both books not only have an incredibly strong sense of place and time, but also a deep, tender regard for people that perhaps comes from being an outsider. Whether it is Hans Fallada writing about Berlin during the War, or William Sewell writing about Chengdu ten years earlier, their decision to set down what the world was like from their somewhat marginal perspective - without judgment, and often with affection - was a profoundly humane act. 

It's with this in the back of my mind that I am trying to write about Chengdu. I fall short of their compassion though, because part of me recoils from this city of 10 million (or 12 million, or 14 million - I do not know the exact figure). There is a look and feeling to any large Chinese city that would be instantly familiar to anyone who has spent time here, and hard to describe to those who have not. The architecture is massive - not just the buildings, but also the roads - everywhere you look you feel like you are the tiniest morsel of food that has just been swallowed up by some giant. And the giant is fearsomely hungry, for everything is moving and bellowing all the time - cars, scooters, people, cyclists, on roads, off roads, over roads, under roads. The other morning I stood at a junction, among a crowd of people waiting to cross, and could have sworn that I heard the giant's pulse, a rhythmic whooshing and sucking that propelled me across the road. There is energy here, and perhaps that is the marvellous part of it, the human energy driving it all. But at this point I still find it intimidating and unloveable. 

Two things strike me as curious in this. Firstly, I don't particularly remember feeling this way when I used to live here. Admittedly, I don't remember ever finding most Chinese cities "picturesque" either, but it's nevertheless a shock to come back to a country where I lived for 7-8 years and to feel uneasy. Secondly, I have found it hard to capture this feeling with photographs, and I think that's because its source is fundamentally dynamic. I would probably need to stand in the middle of a major road, with traffic bearing down on me from all sides, and then click my camera, in order to capture it, and I am just not that keen to be flattened.

Although this reaction has been strong, this is by no means my only reaction to Chengdu, and in fact, further exploration has led me to some pleasing discoveries. Some of these are echoes of other places, and bear the imprint of those happy memories. For example, Chengdu has its own version of "The Bookworm" - a bookshop/cultural centre that is something of an institution in Beijing, at least among expats. The Chengdu version is rather more elegant, if you ask me:

Then there are the internet cafes. I must have spent entire days of my life holed up in Chinese internet cafes, as during my first years here I didn't have a laptop. Back then, they were dingy, dimly lit places that looked like the modern equivalent of opium dens (and possibly were). But I notice that these days, internet cafes are looking much sprucer. In fact, they seem to have learnt a trick or two from Chinese cafes, which themselves often seem to be striving for an elusive "Western" sophistication. This internet cafe even has chandeliers and a coffee bar:

Then there are the relics of an older Chengdu. For example, I came across this sign just close to the university where I am working. It dates back to a time when Sino-Western exchange was, if anything, more common, and rather less ideologically charged. I find it heartening:

This list could go on much longer, but for me the greatest source of joy has been the university itself. Where much of the city is an ear-splitting neon roar, the university is tranquil and leafy in this lovely, crumbly way. There are whole sections of the campus where I live that appear to have been abandoned. At night, I can walk along these unlit paths, and with a little effort I can convince myself that I am in a wayside village in the countryside. 

Even in the daylight, the buildings retain an overgrown, tired look that is quite charming.

In the interests of honesty, I should probably add that I am not living in buildings like these, which probably explains why I can wax romantic about them - my accommodation is in a modern block, which is both less picturesque, and almost certainly more comfortable. Incidentally, the view from my window gives a good sense of how much of an oasis the university campus is:

The university is also home to views that I think of as somehow representative of an older, more contemplative China. Or, to put it another way, you can see things that look like what Westerners like me imagine China used to look like. Things like bicycles leaning against grey brick walls (that grey colour reminds me of Beijing); or men doing tai qi, glimpsed through trees; or women in red sitting on bridges, overlooking clock towers; or autumn leaves falling onto a sloping roof (again that Chinese grey colour - this is the view from my office, incidentally):

In truth, it's the other China, outside the university gates, that is more representative of the country as a whole. But I am happy that there is still at least some space for this other, quieter China, and while it is just a minority concern, it is nevertheless equally alive and authentic.

Finally, this week has brought me a few surprises that did not square with any of my previous experiences in China. For example, the postal system in the university. It seems that packages that arrive are just scattered, as if they had been dropped by plane, onto a square outside the canteen for students to pick up. From what I could see the students quote a serial number, and then take their things away. But how do they know things have arrived for them in the first place? And wouldn't it be quite easy just to pick something up and walk off with it? And what about when it rains? When I asked this last question, the man running the operation gave a hearty laugh, and said "We have umbrellas!", all the while giving me a look that clearly said "Are you stupid, or something?"

And there is also the large number of Indian medical students on campus. In fact, this university is ranked second in China for medicine, and presumably the fees are quite reasonable. But I was still surprised to walk into a cafe off-campus one evening, and discover that ALL the kitchen staff bar one were Indians (from Kerala). Part-time, as it turned out, making a bit of extra money while they complete their studies. When I see how globalisation has opened up opportunities like this, bringing Indians to China for affordable further education, I find it sad that some people challenge it so unequivocally.